Start the Fire
by Delicious Mud Pie
Summary: Very VERY fluffy VR story with the worst plot of all time. Oh well. Take it for the mindless fluff it is.
1. Default Chapter

**A/N: What could be more nauseating than a fic about prom? Probably not much. But at least these characters are IN high school. It's not like I put a bunch of pokemon characters there, who are characters from a show that doesn't even seem to incorporate schools in the normal sense of the word. Uh, err, just take it for the random fluffiness it is. Senior year—after the season 4 close so I just made it so Virgil's family knows about his superpowers. That's about it.**

**Start the Fire**

**Chapter One**

Irritating. That's what the walls were. One couldn't walk an inch without his eyes being assaulted by butcher paper frothing over with bright paint reminding upperclassmen that—oh my gawd—the even to end all events—the night that's supposed to be magic but instead usually ends up in heartbreak, hangovers and unwanted pregnancies—PROM—was coming up. It was like a presidential election, years of preparation and build up for an event that could never meet anyone's expectations. A whole lifetime of buildup for a night of crappy music under crappy crepe paper with crappy food.

A tiny reminder protruded from the crack in the side of every locker in the hallway, like a gauntlet of taunts placed along the path—the plan of a wayward stalker trying to irritate anyone not bubbling over with excitement over a dance.

"For cripe's sake," Richie muttered as he grabbed the reminder from the crevice of his locker, crumpled it up, and threw it unceremoniously onto the ground.

"What?" his oblivious friend asked while reading his note, then crumpling it up, and tossing it unceremoniously at Richie's head. "It's your fault you haven't asked anyone yet."

"Why would I ask anyone?" Richie folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against his locker. He looked away from Virgil as he continued. "I'm not going."

"What!" Virgil looked at Richie sternly. "You have to go! We only get one Senior Prom, and you bailed on Junior prom last year!"

"Yeah, and after hearing all the stories the next day of people puking off hotel balconies, I was glad."

"I didn't end up puking," Virgil offered, and then began to prod. "It'll be fun! Aww, I get it, you're too chicken to ask anyone!"

"Hardly. If I wanted to go—I'd walk right up to anyone I wanted and ask."

"Don't worry bro," Virgil completely ignored his statement. "I'll find someone for you."

"No way!" Richie waved his arms emphatically, "I'd rather go stag—last time you tried to hook me up I ended up with the swamp thing. Not that I have something against the Swamp Thing race, it's just the Bayou is way too humid for me—"

"How was I supposed to know that girl was a bang baby?" Virgil defended himself. "Besides, you two could have had a litter of genius crime-fighting myopic swamp creatures. That'd make an awesome comic book—swamp things wearing glasses and rocket rollerblades!"

"Maybe awesome if you just drank a bottle of cough syrup and followed it up with a bottle of Absinthe," Riche rolled his eyes. "We'd better just get to class."

"Oh man I'm gonna be late!" Virgil gaped at the clock on the wall and then took off running. "See ya after school!"

"Yeah—see ya." Richie began walking to class, not caring if he was late. He was walking down the hall, but decided to walk out of the building instead of to class.

He pretty much wandered aimlessly, but stopped in front of the community center which was pretty much deserted during school hours. If anyone was there, they were inside. The sun warmed sandbox in the kids' playground was empty, and dusty wind moved a swing every so slightly back and forth. The creaking and the opportunity to be alone for a minute invited Richie to sit. His rear nearly touched the sand as the swing wasn't really made to hold someone of his weight, but he could swing back and forth a bit if he bent his legs in a bow-legged way. He watched as his feet made trails in the sand, not really considering that anyone might walk by and wonder just what the heck he was doing.

He also didn't notice when someone sat down next to him until the shadow crossed the paths he was creating with his feet.

"Why aren't you in class?" a familiar voice asked.

Richie looked up, startled. He should have figured this was a stupid place to sit around. He told himself that he didn't care who saw him previous to doing it, but he was beginning to regret it.

"You know senioritis," Richie tried to laugh it off. "Ditching all the time."

"Usually to party," Sharon tried to catch Richie's gaze, but couldn't. "Not to sit on playground equipment made for five year olds."

"You're right!" Richie exclaimed, "I'm cured! Guess I'll be going home now!"

"I have your phone number," Sharon stood in front of Richie before he could get up, placing her hands on her hips. "I'm sure your parents would like to know about your 'senioritis.'"

Richie tried to change the subject. "How'd you see me anyway? Don't you usually sit in an office?"

"Yeah, except when someone is like, hey some high school kid is ditching and sitting on our swing set, should we call the cops? And I ran to see, and noticed it was you. You're lucky my dad isn't here. You'd get lectured worse from him than me."

"Well, you got me I guess," Richie kept swinging, making no attempt to get up.

"What's wrong with you?" Sharon asked. "You've been pouting like a little girl every time I see you around."

"What?" Richie became indignant. "I don't pout!"

"You are right now! What, didn't get the prom date you wanted?"

"To put it lightly," he mumbled under his breath.

"What was that?"

"I _guess_ you could put it that way. I don't want to go anyway. But your brother is pretty much insisting."

"Well he just wants you to have fun! Live the experiences of high school while it lasts!"

"Yeah, great experiences—I'm sure I'll be ecstatic while blending into the wall by the punch bowl while he is having a blast with Daisy."

"Jealousy?"

Richie's face flushed a little, and Sharon offered her hand to help him up. "Can we move this to my office? These are my nice work pants—and I don't want sand in my drawers either."

"Um, I think I'll go back to class now—"

"It's either my office, or a phone call to your parents."

"Let's see—raging best friend's sister—raging mother and father. Tough choice—but you can't ground me into the carpet. Let's go."

The two moved into the community center, and the sudden absence of wind combined with a lack of desire to actually breathe made the room seem like a vacuum sucking all the air from Richie's lungs.

Sharon's office was a little more cheerful than the community center which was definitely not on peak hours, since everyone was at school. The blinds were cracked open, causing bars of sunlight and dark to cross the room. Richie had a fleeting thought of prison bars, but shook the thought from his mind as Sharon implored him to take a seat.

She sat behind her own desk, folding her hands underneath her chin, appearing intense and professional. It was almost funny to Richie, considering most other times he'd seen her she was either fighting with her brother or—fighting with her brother. He knew she was a dedicated counselor, but it was like a teacher having his own child in a class—very hard to get respect from someone who knows the professionalism is a façade.

"Are you really ditching school because you're jealous of Virgil's prom date?" Sharon seemed less than amused.

"You know teenagers—next thing you know I'll be writing vampire poetry and wearing lipstick and fishnet panty hose."

She still remained less than amused.

"Does Virgil have any idea that you have a thing for Daisy?"

"No—but that could be because _I don't_."

"You turned red as a beet when I suggested it outside—body language doesn't lie."

"No, I absolutely don't have a thing for Daisy—look—I can't tell you what my problem really is."

"I know you're probably worried about anything you say getting back to Virgil—but trust me, anything said in this office is strictly confidential."

"Yeah, right. And I suppose there was no pillow talk about the case during the conjugal visits of the jurors on the OJ trial either."

"I wouldn't risk losing my job for some silly problem between my brother and his friend," Sharon seemed a bit offended, but squelched it quickly. "Not to mention my integrity as a counselor."

Richie sighed. "I'm sorry. All I can tell you though—prom just has me bummed. It's a huge reminder the end of the year getting closer—I don't really know what college will be like—"

"You and Virgil are gonna have a blast," Sharon assured him. "Besides, it'll be a breeze for you; I wish I could remember things as easy as you can."

"That's just the thing—" Richie became uneasy. "Me and Vee—rooming—"

"This really isn't about prom at all, is it?"

"It is—and it isn't," Richie slouched in resignation. "In a very small microcosm of my life, it is. But there's more to it—yeah."

Sharon reached over to Richie and patted him on the hand. He stiffened at first, but then relaxed, although his brow remained knotted with consternation.

"I don't know if I should—I mean, I think I should tell Virgil to find another roommate." Richie began to sweat visibly, and became self-conscious as his hand became clammy in Sharon's grasp. He didn't yet pull away, however. "I mean, he did keep telling me I should go to MIT or Yale or something—I wanted to stay—a guy can change his mind can't he?"

"Why exactly do you suddenly want to change your college plans?"

Richie grew flush, and Sharon realized she wouldn't get an answer for a while without further prodding. "Richie—I'm not stupid. We're just playing a game right now. But tell me why you want to change your college plans."

"Because—" Richie paused. He'd never committed himself to the words before, even in thought, and the words lingered in his stomach, trying as hard as they could to stay nestled in safety. If he didn't say it, Sharon couldn't _really_ know what he was going on about, although she professed to know. If he said it—it'd become tangible. It would no longer be just a jumble of fleeing thoughts and feelings he'd buried. It would surface like the ten year old forgotten cheese in the back of the fridge during a cleaning before a move—

"I need to leave," he stood from his chair. "Thanks for the session, Freud, but I'm done. I'll just deal with whatever consequences from my parents and the school for ditching."

"I'll get the licensed psychologist to get you a note for school," Sharon stalled him. "But one question—why did you stop here? You know who works here."

"I was just going to go to—home or something," Richie shrugged. "Coming here was kind of a fluke thing for me. Maybe I did expect to see you—and wanted to talk to someone—and you—well, I really don't know what you think about me now."

"It's not like this is a surprise to me," Sharon half-smiled, but was sure not to make it seem as if she were laughing. "And whatever my brother does with his life, I support him."

Richie shook his head and chortled with heavy breath. "No worries about him, he's all over Daisy."

"How long has he been with her and not made it official?" Sharon smirked wryly. "She's been wanting him to for a long time—and he's been dragging his feet. But you didn't hear that from me."

"He's just oblivious," Richie brushed the innuendo aside. "She'd have to beat him over the head with the idea before he'd get it."

"I think she has!" Sharon responded, "But I'm not trying to give you any ideas or anything. I know you don't want to hurt your friendship, and whatever you do is your choice. But I know Virgil, and 'all over Daisy' or not, talking to him probably wouldn't result in the end of your friendship."

"Well," Richie pondered, "Thanks Sharon. I'll think about that." Richie stood up as if to leave.

"Hold up a sec," Sharon asked, then began digging around in a drawer. She pulled something out and held it up like a prize. "Want a lollypop before you go?"

Richie smirked, leaned over and calculatingly grabbed it from her hand. "I guess counseling is painful like seeing a doctor—except without the whole having to turn my head and cough thing—"

"No mental images, puh-leeze!" Sharon crossed her eyes in feigned indignation. "Oh!" She stopped again and lifted the phone. "Hold on while I call and tell the Doctor to write you a note."

While she dialed the numbers, Richie sat back down and grinned. "Maybe I should have more problems to come here and get out of class for—the girl who sits next to me in biology smells like she lives in a methane processing plant."

"Don't make me change my mind about telling your parents," Sharon growled, and threw a wad of paper at Richie as she began the phone call.

-

Virgil looked totally bummed as he walked into his house—he was slouching, his bottom lip protruded in a pout, and he generally exuded an unpleasant aura. He parked on the sofa, and since he was the first person home, he just used a tendril of electricity to snag a soda for himself out of the fridge. If he lived alone he'd probably never leave the sofa—actually, he dismissed that thought after postulating the idea of urine conducting electricity. He zapped the TV on and drank the soda in angry swigs, and watched it vapidly until his sister came through the door.

"I see I'm just in time to not see dinner thoughtfully started by my loving brother," Sharon pouted.

"Well you know if I did it instead of you I wouldn't get my daily dose of toxic waste," Virgil quipped back, "that's how I keep my super powers. I never told anyone, but the big bang was nothing—your meatloaf—that's the stuff mutants are made of."

"If dad would allow me to keep you in the attic I would," Sharon glowered as she walked into the kitchen to get a soda herself. "You're in an awfully sunny mood right now, must have been free Prozac day at school, am I right?"

"No," Virgil began his sob story, "Richie didn't meet me after school—I waited forever—he just ditched me."

"I'm sure he'll just come home with booze on his breath and whine at you for nagging when he wants to go out with the boys."

Virgil ignored the comment. "And to think—all day I looked for someone without a prom date to ask for him."

"I'm sure he and the swamp thing would come out lovely in the pictures."

"I was thinking the same thing," Virgil smiled deviously, "and that's exactly how I came up with the perfect plan! _You _can go with him!"

"Uh, I really don't think he's my type," Sharon shot out, although it became quieter at the end as she didn't want to let any of her previously acquired knowledge slip.

"It's just a dance, you don't have to marry him," Virgil stood on his knees on the couch cushions, looking at Sharon as if he'd solved all his problems. "Adam won't be jealous—and it'd cheer him right up—I can go with Daisy, and he can go with mysterious older girl. He'll be the most popular boy in school!"

"Are there cameras in the house? Is this a Saturday Morning Special now?"

"Come on, I really want him to go—but I think he's too stubborn to ask anyone."

"And I think you're too nosy. Let him handle his own business."

"Come on—don't you want to relive your youth? Leave the world of old hag for a day to be a teenager again?"

"Actually," Sharon laughed despite herself, "I am going to go—to baby-sit you little brats. I'm chaperoning."

"No! That's—that just isn't right!"

"Yup, no sneaking off to a stairwell or freak dancing for you!"

"Noooooo!"

"Yeeeeeeees!"

"You don't," Virgil sniffed pitifully, "you don't trust me?"

"Doesn't matter whether I do or not," Sharon folded her arms underneath her chest, "they asked if I would like to volunteer, and I said yes. It had nothing to do with you."

"Great, under scrutiny on prom night!"

"Don't worry; there are way more interesting things in this world to scrutinize than you. I'm sure I'll have my hands full with the other kids."

"Double great—I have no one to set Richie up with!"

"That's your problem," Sharon ended the conversation and turned to the meal she was about to begin.

Virgil grumbled for a minute, and then became genuinely worried that Richie hadn't even called him to explain why he didn't meet him. He ran to his room and plucked his shock vox from a super secret hiding place in his room (if he were more normal he might have some porn there instead) and, as he was still bitter, he held it to his mouth and greeted Richie gruffly.

"Yo Dora," he snapped, "did you find too many delicioso things in the forest to remember to meet me after school?"

There was a pause, and then a totally befuddled "what?"

"You know—Dora—Backpack—never mind."

"Sorry Virg—I just came home early because I felt sick, and I fell asleep. Forgot to wake up and meet you."

"What—got a case of senioritis?"

"What!" Richie's voice squeaked—and his response sounded like a mouse screaming for its life.

"Chill bro," Virgil blinked in confusion. "It was just a joke. You didn't seem sick last I saw you, though."

"Yeah, well," Richie calmed down, feeling that he had overreacted to the mention of senioritis. Everyone was talking about senioritis—it's not like he's the only person who ever talked about it. "I do feel better now. Maybe something I ate didn't agree with me."

"See?" Virgil pressed, "Even your lunch wants you to go to prom."

"Not this again," Richie groaned. "Feeling sick all over again."

"Come on Richie," Virgil's tone softened, "I need prom pics with my best friend before we go off to college."

"You're not taking pictures with Daisy?"

"Both! Some with her—then some with you!"

"I dunno how I feel about going as your concubine."

Virgil laughed. "I swear I will not ignore you, Daisy will probably be with her girlfriends most of the time anyway—I need a wingman. Plenty of girls go with friends in groups rather than with a date—you'll get your dance on with someone—I promise."

"Woo, pity dancing with strangers!"

"That's the spirit! Now come over for dinner—if I have to eat cow brain soufflé for dinner, so do you."

"Hey, maybe I'll get bovine spongiform encephalopathy and I won't have to go to prom after all!"

"Really? Unless you get mad cow you'll go?"

"I guess."

"Hooray! Maybe we should go out for pizza instead then."

"I at least demand the opportunity to contract mad cow. Sort of a prom Russian roulette."

"Whatever. Just get over here." Virgil stuffed the glorified walkie-talkie in his super secret hiding spot, which was an old habit considering his family knew his secret anyway, and walked back into the living room. In fact, he pretty much never used his powers in front of them. Partially because it was an old habit, and partially in desire to not be called a showoff. But he did always get blamed whenever something electronic broke—even though it never really was his fault. Not for a long long time, anyway.

**Author's note: Ch.2 is done. Just leavin' ya hangin', if you call that hangin'. I don't think there's enough suspense in this to make anyone give a crap about the outcome or not, but oh well. This is just random fluff. And trust me, it gets REALLY, REALLY fluffy. Not sharing with who, but you can probably guess. I had something stewing that's better than this. However, the last episode of JLU I saw totally ruined my idea because it involved Shayera still being gone from the Justice League.**

**I haven't done a fanfic in years. I'm rusty. If I got Sharon's job wrong—sue me. I just figured she was a counselor on her way to becoming a psychologist. My TV watching is sporadic, I hardly have every detail of the show memorized. My bf's sister has a counselor like that who works under the direction of a licensed psychiatrist. Why don't I write a real story or something and make some money off of it? I'm a masochist or something. Writing fanfics at 3 am that surely no one will read or like. Oh well. **


	2. Part 2, no fancy title

**Eh decided to put them both up at the same time. Pt 1 wasn't good enough to stand alone anyway.**

**Start the Fire**

**Chapter Two**

"Are you two twins separated at birth or something?" Daisy tried to hide her annoyance, but by the look on Virgil's face, she'd have to spell out her frustrations in sky writing and blow a bullhorn in his face before he'd get it.

"Yeah Daisy, he's just an albino," Virgil snorted. "We were planning on going with all your friends and their dates in a limo anyway—what's the big deal?"

"That's not it," Daisy gave her feet a guilty look, "it's just, he doesn't have a date. I mean, are we gonna get a chance to dance at all?"

"Hey, I'm sure he'll find some single girl there to latch onto," Virgil reassured. "Besides, you'll probably be chillin' with your friends during the non-slow songs, right?"

She shrugged, and looked over her shoulder. "I guess."

"Awww, chin up, I won't neglect you," Virgil smiled, putting his hand under her chin and drawing her eyes to his. "We'll have a great time. I just didn't want him to miss out on it."

"You're right—I shouldn't be selfish like that."

"Hey look, there he is! Hey Richie! We're over here!"

Daisy could hardly hide her drooping lips and doleful glance to the tables around her as she set her tray of school lunch slop down. She looked at the brown bag Virgil carried with leftovers from the previous night's dinner wistfully, wondering why he always complained about his sister's cooking. It surely looked better than whatever it was that had just been executed to be thrown onto her plate by the school lunch hag. She then watched Richie as he sat down and had the same—exact—things in his lunch. She shook her head as if to shake a fly off her nose, and then she stood up.

"Hey Virgil, um, I'm gonna go hang out with my friends for right now—they told me earlier they wanted to talk about dresses and stuff and I forgot—see you this weekend?"

"I'll probably see you before that!" Virgil laughed. Daisy was hoping he'd implore her to stay—but—

"Well, if I don't I mean."

"Okay then, I'll call you."

Daisy sighed, planted a quick kiss on Virgil's forehead, and walked off.

"He takes bros before hos WAY too far," she muttered as came to the table her other friends sat at.

The time of year seemed to bring out the pout bug in full force, and now she was its latest victim. She didn't know how she felt about going to prom as Virgil's concubine.

"So did you rent a tux?" Virgil asked Richie.

"Naw," Richie shook his head. "Just gonna wear the suit in my closet."

"Gear might have to crash the party if any metahumans show up—but it'll be hard to kiss anyone you end up dancing with with a mask on."

"Herpes shield," Richie fired back, although not really desiring to engage in verbal banter at the moment. "I'm just going to steal one of my mom's Xanax and try to survive the night."

"Man, everyone is being so grumpy," Virgil contemplated, and then began to tear into his food. "Did you get mad cow after all? Isn't irritability a symptom?"

"Sorry bro," Richie tried to smile. "Just—nervous I guess."

"Nothing to be nervous about!" Virgil slapped Richie on the arm. "Just relax. Or do I have to bust out my golden chain watch and hypnotize you into chilling out?"

"A hypnotist—" the idea rolled around in Richie's head for a moment, but he came back to reality shortly. "Can we just talk about something else? If we keep talking about it, when it comes around it'll fizzle out faster than a ninety year old man without a Viagra prescription."

"Good way to kill the mood," Virgil shook his head, and then crammed his face with another bite. He looked over to the table Daisy was sitting at and noticed she wasn't chattering with the rest of her friends. Her head rested on her right palm, and she was drawing invisible letters on the table with her free index finger. She stared unwaveringly at her invisible writings, her expression stoic.

"I'm gonna go ask Daisy to come back over here," Virgil announced, but the bell rang, and it was time to go back to class. "Guess I'll have to talk to her later."

Virgil and Richie said their goodbyes and parted ways, as they had classes in opposite directions on campus. Virgil just didn't get what was eating everybody for the longest time—but he thought he'd figured it out as he watched Daisy's forlorn look. Daisy thought that Virgil would feel obligated to hang out with Richie and not her at prom—and Richie felt like he'd be getting in the way of his date. He would reassure both of them that that wasn't going to be the case as soon as he got the chance—but he was still certain that everyone would just calm down and have fun when it came down to it.

Richie trotted to class absent-mindedly, when he heard the voices of two of Daisy's friends chattering by a row of lockers on his way.

"Daisy seemed really upset," one of them said. "She should just find someone else to go with."

"Naw," her other friend quipped quickly, as if she knew something her other friend didn't know and couldn't wait for it to leave her lips, "I think Virgil is just setting her up for disappointment on purpose—I heard he's finally gonna make it official on prom night, he just wants it to be special."

Richie blinked, wondering where she could have acquired that information. Surely if such an event was going to take place, he would have been the first to know. He didn't really sweat it much at that point—she had to have been making it up.

"Well I think it's too little too late," the first girl scowled. "You know what I really think? That every girl pines over at least one gay guy in her life, and she just hasn't gotten it out of her system yet."

"Eww," the other girl rejected the thought, "don't be an idiot."

Richie left his safe spot at the end of the row where he couldn't be seen, peering over his shoulder to make sure the girls couldn't see him. He didn't really know what to make of that conversation, and he was wishing he hadn't waited around to hear it. But, biology called, and he had to mentally prepare himself for the odors he was about to face.

-

"We are girls," Richie muttered as Virgil helped him fix his tie. "I mean, you _expect_ them to meet over at one of their houses to go in the bathroom and fuss over what they're wearing."

"You didn't _have_ to come here before everyone else," Virgil commented while standing back and eyeing his handiwork, then tsked to himself and undid Richie's tie to do it over again. "You're gonna look out of place in that—and besides—isn't that what you wore to your aunt's funeral?"

"Thought it was fitting," Richie muttered, and then remembered what he was going to ask. "Say Virg—if you were planning on—" but his voice trailed off, and he decided not to finish that train of thought.

"On what?" Virgil asked quizzically as he grabbed some, still unhappy with Richie's appearance as he pulled out a tub of gel and began contemplating where it should go in Richie's hair.

"Oh nevermind," Richie shook his head insistently. "I don't even know where I was going with that."

Richie stood and looked away, feigning irritation as Virgil began to muss with his hair. "I hope you weren't expecting a tip for this."

"You don't tip your hairdressers?" Virgil acted shocked. "No wonder you always get this haircut."

"Hey!" Richie frowned, and then looked in the mirror. "Actually—not bad—whatever it was you did. I only look twice as dorky as I thought I would."

"Twice as dorky?" Virgil blinked, "and here I thought you were already at a threshold of dorky that couldn't be surpassed! Besides—I covered up your roots!"

"My roots!" Richie shrieked, quickly looking in the mirror and pawing through his hair. "I'm a natural blonde!"

"Sure you are, Mr. Black Eyebrows with Blonde Hair."

Richie pointed a finger at Virgil and opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn't think of a comeback before the doorbell rang.

"All right!" Virgil seemed giddy as he ran to the door. "I wonder if there'll be champagne in the limo?"

"That reminds me," Sharon heard him as he crossed her path in the living room. "Gotta bring my breathalyzer."

"Killjoy," Virgil stuck his tongue out at here before opening the door.

Richie held back, and Sharon walked over to him, out of earshot from Virgil where he placed a corsage of tigerlillies on Daisy's wrist, then began chattering away with her and one of her friends and her date at the door.

"You sure you wanna go?" Sharon asked him.

"About as sure as I'm sure I wanna run naked through Anchorage on Christmas night," Richie sighed. "But the ticket to go was expensive—not gonna waste it."

Sharon put a hand on his shoulder. "You'll have fun. If you get too bored, you can help me spot kids trying to sneak off and have sex in the corners."

Richie wrinkled his nose at the thought. "They do that?"

"You should have been at my debriefing when I agreed to do this," Sharon laughed. "Gotta be eagle eyes." She leaned over to whisper to him. "Should've asked you to invent me some telescopic x-ray contact lenses or something that worked on command—you know—so I could zoom in on all the booze and drugs in tuxedo pockets."

Richie stood for a moment thinking about what exactly creating something like that would entail, but Sharon socked him in the shoulder.

"I was kidding." She snapped him back to the tasks at hand. "You better get over there—unless you guys wanna be fashionably late."

"Fashion!" Richie waved a hand in dismissal as he walked toward the door to leave. "We _invented _fashion!"

Sharon smiled wryly, then began to whisper in Richie's ear. "Sure ya did, Mr. Flies-Around-on-Roller-Skates."

Richie stood where he was for a moment, his face flush with feigned anger at Sharon's jab, but was quickly yanked out the door the group of very excited teens next to it. Couldn't have just left without him, he guessed.

The limo was nice—roomy—no seatbelts—and yes there was a bottle of champagne in a small refrigerated ice chest the corner, just nothing to open it with. It was either placed there to add to the atmosphere, or just to annoy the teenagers in it who couldn't taste its forbidden contents. It was the object of conversation for quite a while, but that conversation ebbed away into some equally meaningless chatter, which Richie didn't participate in. Virgil seemed a little concerned by his silence, but his concern could never manifest in words as the many conversations demanding his attention pulled his mind in too many directions.

_What the hell was I thinking?_ Richie sighed, slouching down where he sat and fidgeted while staring at the moon roof, not noticing the irritated look Daisy threw to Virgil at this action. He was too interested in the little sparkly lights that danced across the black sheath of the moon roof, wondering if his compatriots would open it and scream out of it on their way home, preventing him from taking a nap. He was subsequently ignored, aside from Virgil jabbing him in the side occasionally to get him to agree or disagree with whatever was just said.

The ride was shorter than the eternity Richie expected it to be, but it still felt good to stretch stiff legs and arms and wake up the sleeping posterior upon exiting the limo. He squinted in the twilight, smirking at the little horse carriage ride set up to one side in the grass of the country club. Students were upset at first about prom not being at a theme park or something, but the place was pretty nice.

He followed his friends to the door, fumbling around his pockets for his ticket. He began to panic a little as he couldn't find it, until Virgil caused him to jump ten feet in the air by waving it in his face.

"Didn't trust you with it," Virgil smirked. "It'd be convenient to 'forget' and have to go to the arcade down the road or something the entire night."

"How did you?" Richie's mouth was agape as he wondered how it was possible that Virgil stole his ticket from his pocket without noticing. Or how he knew it was in his pocket in the first place. Maybe it stuck to Virgil while he was messing with Richie's hair—from a small paper-magnetizing but of static electricity—or something. Richie decided it wasn't a big deal as he was being left in the dust while contemplating.

They handed their tickets to the less-than-excited student body officers taking them at the door. The blasé expression on the girl who took Richie's ticket caused him to smirk. _You and me both_, he laughed to himself.

The band the school had hired to play was actually pretty decent. No one could agree on what KIND of music they'd like, so the school went out on a limb and hired some girl all-kinds-of-alternative-bands cover band. Not everyone liked the fact that there wasn't going to be any rap music, and the band was prohibited from playing metal and starting riots. He didn't know why they couldn't just hire a DJ or something. The student body got a hair up their ass for a live band, and now the night would be pigeonholed into one type of music.

After the customary devouring of generic chicken dinner prom food, everyone stood around dancing in a sort of foot-shuffling-to the beat sort of way, except for the few who actually had rhythm. It wasn't as bad as Richie thought it would be, but he was just numbly following the crowd while his thoughts were elsewhere.

As soon as a slow song played, however, they went their separate ways. Richie stood around near the bunch for the first few, but after an hour he waved off Virgil and Daisy to go dance, insisting that he'd be fine cowering in the corner. He walked over to where Sharon was and folded his arms over his chest.

"If I'm lucky, I won't somehow get stuck in a space-time-continuum rift and end up repeating these three hours over and over for the rest of my life." Richie started a conversation.

"Please don't tell me you just came over here to depress me," Sharon put her hands on her hips and glared at Richie.

"Misery loves company," Richie laughed. He watched Virgil and Daisy dancing as a slow song came on, talking incessantly. Daisy's face seemed a bit consternated for a moment, but then relaxed. Virgil closed his eyes and gave her a small kiss on the forehead, and Richie turned away. There just HAD to be a space-time-continuum rift with his name on it in that country club.

"Speaking of reliving one day over and over again," Sharon began talking to Richie, as she'd been watching her brother momentarily as well. "If there's any truth to movies, that problem can only be solved by facing your problems instead of running away from them."

"I really hope you're not suggesting what I think you are," Richie suddenly frowned, "because I couldn't imagine a crueler thing to do to my best friend than to totally screw over his prom night."

Sharon contemplated that for a moment. "I guess you're right. Doesn't have to be right now though."

"Hmm." Richie hmmed to himself, took a deep breath, and dug his heels into the ground for the long haul as the song ended. Virgil walked over to him, Daisy next to him.

"Hey Richie," Virgil smiled at him, "we found a group of single girls—they said if they could all dance with you at once in a circle—"

Richie smiled and held a hand up, "I think I'll pass Vee, I'm gonna go outside and get some fresh air."

"Dunno how fresh it could be with that horse carriage out there," Virgil laughed, but showed more concern. "Come on, come back over and dance with us. No one expected you to have any rhythm anyway."

"No really," Richie became more stern. "I need some air. Maybe in a while I will."

"All right," Virgil sighed, "but be back in about a half hour, we figure the line for pictures will die down by then."

Richie looked at his watch and nodded. "Got it." He then turned without really a second look at his friend and walked out the door.

Richie wandered out the door into the grassy area where students were allowed to roam around outside. They'd probably prefer not to let people go outside at all, but it would have been a total waste of the outdoor dance floor the country club had. This one actually had a DJ, but the guy was mostly playing 80's dance tracks—which some of the students liked—but that a lot were vocally whining about.

He stood watching everyone dance in a daze, mindlessly humming along to 80's music he used to listen to when he was five. He watched the moon traverse the night sky as it fought the man-made lights to get his attention. He let himself fall into a little fantasy to whittle away the time—one he had been building on for a while—since the mention of prom at the beginning of the school year. He had to modify it a bit as the time for Virgil to change his mind about his date grew shorter and shorter, but the hope still lingered. He cut his dazing short as he realized he'd been daydreaming to himself for quite a while.

Richie took in a deep breath as he prepared to go back in the main dance area, but was interrupted by a tap on his shoulder. He turned around quickly, only to be faced by a fairly short, blonde haired girl with a pink, strapless dress on and a look that was unmistakable.

"Swamp th—" he began, but quickly became embarrassed and remembered her real name. "Err, Angela! It's been a long time."

She laughed. "Yeah, my 'swamp thing' days are behind me now, but thanks for remembering."

"I'm sorry," Richie slapped his forehead. "That was way rude of me."

"Wanna dance?" She smiled, holding out her hand to him. "I mean, I swear I won't try and eat your spleen this time—they cured me pretty well. I think."

Richie laughed at her self-deprecation, and grabbed her hand, and put his hand on her other shoulder. The pictures could wait a few minutes. "I've got to warn you though," he sighed, "I'm not really in a great mood."

"Yeah, kinda noticed," she mused. "I'm sure dancing with swamp thing again wasn't your idea of a great time either—"

"No no," Richie tried to assure her, "you definitely, if anything, made me feel better. It's always nice to see things turn out well for someone."

"Yeah I guess," she sighed. "It was hard to get in the swing of things when I got back to school—get my credits together, you know."

Richie nodded and continued to listen to her tale, although he became distracted by a couple of students hiding at the side of the building that he could see out of the corner of his eye. He'd learned to be particularly alert after a few years of the superhero thing, and he felt they were being suspicious, as they were in an area that was not lighted. Although stars shone brightly, the moon was nothing but a sliver, and it would be easy for them to go unnoticed by anyone not inherently wary. There weren't many bang babies around anymore, but something irked him about them having snuck by the chaperones to hide there.

Maybe the kids just wanted to make out or something. He didn't know. But at least going and questioning them would pass the time for the moment.

When the song they were dancing to ended, he excused himself and went back into the building. He snagged his bag he brought from the table his group had staked out in the main room and then walked in the bathroom and stepped into a stall underneath a vent. He bet that Superman probably never took whatever he was wearing off in a bathroom, and he cringed as his foot nearly plunged into toilet water while he attempted to remove his suit and stuff it into his bag. He'd have to take the bag with him, but it was a small annoyance—much smaller than realizing the vent he'd parked himself under wouldn't be nearly large enough for him to try and open and sneak out from. Not to mention that a group of guys had gathered in the bathroom and were yammering like girls. He dredged his suit out of his backpack and put it over his Gear clothes, and muttered as he forgot the suit would wrinkle like crazy when stuffed in there. He sighed, wondering why he could probably open a hole in the space-time-continuum, but he couldn't remember to keep forks out of the microwave—or remember that _suits wrinkle._

He momentarily contemplated what it would take to build something that could discretely iron clothes while on the body, but shook the thought off as he exited the bathroom and went back outside, hoping no one would notice that he was now wearing tennis shoes instead of dress shoes. He got an odd look from Sharon, but other than that, he made it outside smoothly. He had a plan to change unnoticed.

The roof of the building was very old fashioned, and had many peaks and valleys. He snuck around to the front of the building (if the chaperones weren't yammering so much they might have noticed) where no one was anymore, waited until no cars were near, and flew to the top of the building and hid in one of its crevices. It was easy to change there, and also a safe spot to leave his bag. He flew down to where the couple was, hoping to remain unnoticed.

The "couple" was actually a set of twins that he recognized. He never really got in a tryst with them since their shenanigans were quickly snuffed and they were expelled from school immediately, but they shouldn't have been there.

"Hello boys," Gear startled them with his statement as he tossed a small canister up and down in one palm. It was actually just something he'd developed that would emit a high pitched noise that would be an irritant more than anything, but it was a nice sized something to toss up and down in one hand. "I dunno if you got the notice, but expelled students aren't allowed at prom."

"Beat it techno-dweeb," one of them snarled, his arms becoming notably bluer. "If we don't get to go to our own senior prom, then nobody can!"

"Well if you didn't go around the school looking like overgrown cookie monsters and throwing desks around classrooms, we wouldn't be having this conversation." Gear stalled, wondering how these two could have remained bang babies without his cure antidote. Although obscured in the darkness, it was obvious by their silhouettes and the glare off their skin that they were transforming quickly into two hairy, blue haired monsters with long limbs—more reminiscent of an azure Limber Louie than a Cookie Monster, but he preferred to taunt them with the more recognizable reference.

"We've been punished enough for that," Cookie monster number one said.

"You try spending two years in a bible camp in the Philippines and come back without a burning desire for revenge!" Cookie Monster number two pumped an indignant fist into the air. "They were even less amused by our powers!"

Ah. That's how. They were out of the country.

"But here," Number One snarled, "HERE there are no nuns to slap us with rulers! So we shall prevail!"

"There aren't any Chips Ahoy at this dance so you guys are probably in the wrong place," Gear smirked. "Besides, I'm not letting you ruin this for my friends."

"Your friends!" Number One spat. "We don't get to be here with our friends. How would you feel if you weren't even allowed to come?"

"I'd erect an altar in my closet dedicated to whoever forbade me from coming," Gear laughed.

"Enough of this!" Number Two growled. Gear rolled his eyes, but didn't realize that Number One was crouched in the dark and about to make a springing leap for his legs at any moment, until it was too late.

"Gah!" Gear yelled, more loudly than he would have liked if it hadn't been a reflex, as he was slammed to the ground. The canister he was holding flew from his hand backwards, splitting open and omitting a screech, although only momentary, grabbed the attention of everyone within the next five blocks. The horses of the carriage ride panicked and began to gallop in frenzy around the golf course. Richie would have worried about the suddenly endangered passengers of said carriage who were pleading for help amongst a stream of shrieks and obscenities, but he was trying to hard to remain conscious as his head had hit the ground with great force. He got away momentarily as his shoes were still on flight mode and propelled him horizontally across the ground before he could shut them off.

It was a good thing he was on grass and not cement, but still, pain and dizziness caused by the impact _and_ the noise didn't give him much time to utilize the distraction the canister had caused, and he certainly didn't want to soar through the air with a swimming head. Both wannabe Sesame Street characters were covering their ears and wailing, something he was more inclined to do at that moment than think. The noise was brief—the ringing was not.

At the same time he was able to pull himself up, Number One outstretched a long, limber arm and grabbed Gear by the face, lifting him up.

"For that," Number Two growled, "I'm going to rip off your mask, and toss you into that group of your 'friends' crowding around here now."

Gear tried to shout out to Backpack, but his voice was muffled by the sheer force being applied to face causing his mask to squash up against his mouth. His legs dangled and his arms were instinctively around the arm of his captor, attempting to pry the arm off, but he quickly realized this action was futile. He reached behind him randomly pressing a button on the machine on his back, and his weapon popped up.

A fork.

He had no time to contemplate why he had put a damned fork on a button on his backpack, so he instead grabbed it and stabbed the arm of Number Two with it repeatedly.

"Owwie!" Number Two yelled and pulled his hand away.

"Who needs superpowers anyway?" Gear sighed, throwing his eating utensil into the golf course since he didn't want the blood on it to have a chance to drip onto his gloves. "Just call me—The Spork!"

His attention then diverted to the carriage, which, to his chagrin, was already neatly handled and packaged by Static.

Gear slapped himself in the face, adding to the cracks freshly created by his children's television puppet friend. Now he was mad.

They were again preparing to assault him, but he flew high enough and in an erratic pattern so they couldn't leap for him again. Now he was angry. The back of his head was throbbing like mad, but he ignored it, reaching for as many flash bombs as he could hold in his two hands.

"You're gonna get it now," he shouted through clenched teeth—and the assault was about to commence, when a chain seemed to manifest around the twins and tie them up. Usurped before he could act, Gear looked behind him as a hand was put on his shoulder.

"C'mon now Gear," Static said sternly, "you know how many kids around the country would be mad at you if you put these guys in the hospital?"

"Oscar was always cooler anyway," Gear said through clenched teeth, still not relinquishing the bombs in his hand. Static put a hand on his shoulder, and he relaxed.

"I could have handled it," Gear whispered to his friend.

"You need to get out of here," Static warned, ignoring Gear's plea. "Your mask is broken and pieces might fall off."

Gear sighed and got a good look at all the students standing around staring at them. Couldn't just fly up to the roof, they'd be looking for him to come back down. He shot one last injured look at Static, and took off down the road, looking for another safe place to wait until the ruckus died down and he could get to the roof. He wasn't going to come back until the dance was over. He didn't care who asked where he was.

"Wait!" Static called to him, following. He caught up easily as Gear's flight speed was purposely lackadaisical. Static put a hand on Gear's shoulder, and they landed on the nearest rooftop. "The dance is over bro—I've been looking for you."

Gear looked away for a moment as too many thoughts crowded his head at once. He looked back at Static with wide eyes. "But—you better get to the limo to go home!"

Static shook his head. "They're long gone. I told them I was gonna look for you as an excuse to go help you out, Sharon told everyone you were in the bathroom sick. She's waiting for us—we can go home with her."

Gear slumped, tearing off his broken mask and putting his face in his hands. "As much as I tried not to, I had to ruin it for you."

"Aww, I had a good time," Static put a comforting arm on Richie's shoulders, and removed his mask as well for the time being. He turned Richie toward him, forcing eye contact. "It's not your fault you had to fight them."

"Yeah, but it was my fault I used a noise maker instead of something silent," he grumbled. "I'm gonna regret this—gonna regret everything—but that wasn't an accident. I feel bad now, realizing I shouldn't have been spiteful—"

Virgil looked confused. "Spiteful? Because you had to come? So you tried to tear me away from dancing? I just wanted you to have fun—you could have had fun, you were the one who insisted on being miserable. I guess I shouldn't have tried so hard to get you to come."

The blood drained from Richie's face in his surprise, and a lump swelled up in his throat as what he did really hit him.

"Vee, it's not like that," Richie croaked, his voice cracking a little as he spoke. "Since I already ruined your time—I guess I couldn't make it worse—Vee, I was spiteful because—because there _was_ someone I wanted to come with. And that person already had a date."

Virgil sighed. "So—" disappointment greased his voice a bit, making it a little squeaky. "You _like _someone already?"

Richie was growing very impatient with himself, and with everything. He stood up and looked down at Virgil, his mouth turned downward in dour anticipation of what was going to come out of it. "You need to think a little harder. _Who _could I possibly like that I wouldn't tell you about? What would cause me to keep it a secret?"

Virgil blinked hard. "Daisy?"

"No!" Richie screamed, grabbing Virgil by the shoulders and shaking him. "Not Daisy, for the love of—No! It's you! You! You you you you you you you you YOU!"

Virgil blinked for a minute, and Richie pried his hands off of Virgil's shoulders, his heart trying its damndest to escape his ribcage. "It's not like I wanted to tell you," Richie stammered, then looked to the sky and put his hands on his forehead. "Oh god—I can't do anything right tonight."

Virgil stood up and looked at Richie for a moment, and then threw his arms around him and began laughing. "Richie, you have no idea." His laughter grew worse, so he couldn't finish his sentence.

Richie was puzzled, and didn't know what to make of Virgil's statement. "I—wha?"

"Saved me some trouble," Virgil grinned, wiping tears of laughter and surprise from his eyes. "I was trying to work up the nerve all night to ask you if you wanted to dance to the last song—I already told Daisy before we came here—I had to. I couldn't flake on her though, we'd been planning this for months."

Richie's mouth was agape, and he stood still, not really believing what he was hearing.

"What made you decide this—now?" He asked, confused as to why, if he had felt that way, Virgil would have waited until then, of all times.

"Lots of soulsearching," Virgil frowned.

"Well," Richie was stunned, and looked at his hands. His breathing eased, and he looked up at Virgil. "Damn, that's a relief."

Virgil hugged his paralysis-stricken friend once again. He lifted his hands and softly placed his hands upon Richie's cheeks, lifting his face to his. He closed his eyes and leaned in for one soft, sweet kiss on Richie's surprised lips. He grinned and tilted his head, leaning in again, expecting the next to be reciprocated. It was, although a bit timidly. Richie was melting, and Virgil thought he'd topple over at any moment. With this in mind, he pulled Richie close to him with a firm grip.

"Too bad we couldn't have danced to that last song," Richie sighed, feeling very far away from where he was. He wondered if this is what it felt like to be drunk. His head was swimming. He looked up at Virgil, wanting badly to kiss him, but not yet able to believe that those lips were his to kiss. Virgil did the work for him, and his whole body tingled as he placed his arms around Virgil's neck and closed his eyes slowly. Their costumes were a little bulky and awkward, and they grinned with the same thought as they pulled away from each other.

"Sharon will kill us if we don't get back down there fast," Virgil smiled. "It's damn late—I'm sure you could stay over—if you called your parents."

"Stay over?" Richie squeaked, the blood rampaging back into his head.

"Don't get too excited," Virgil smirked, pulling his mask back over his face. "I have a twenty date rule."

Richie laughed despite his perpetual embarrassment. This would be really hard to get used to. He put his mask back on, informed Virgil of where he hid his suit on the roof, and they went to change.

-

Richie and Virgil were very disheveled looking as they re-entered the main dance room. Everyone had cleared out, and the band was putting their stuff away. They stood by the stage and watched everyone clean for a moment, until Sharon walked up to them with her hands on her hips. "You guys gonna help clean? We gotta be out of here in a couple of hours."

They both groaned.

"We wanna go home!" Virgil whined.

"Shoulda got on your fancy pants limo then," Sharon snorted. "You gotta work for a ride with me!"

Sharon walked away for a moment, and Virgil snuck a tender look at Richie, putting his hands on Richie's waist. "We can get that last dance in somewhere—later."

"Hey," a new voice called to them, from the stage. The singer of the girl band that had played was up there. She crouched down by them and smirked. "Did you guys not get to dance together because high school kids are jerks?"

They looked at her in total confusion for a moment.

"Had that problem myself," the girl seemed defiant. "Bullshit you can't enjoy prom the way you want to. Well, fuck everyone, you guys get ready, we're playin' one last song." She turned to her bandmates. "Plug the shit back in girls, one last song!"

"My drumset was already half torn down," the drummer whined. The singer stomped over and helped her put it back together.

"What should it be girls?" The singer asked.

They groaned, some more but the singer stamped her foot and they fell into line.

"Hey, I know a song we forgot to play!" The guitarist nodded, then huddled with her friends to tell them her idea.

Richie and Virgil didn't really know what to think. Wouldn't be able to keep it from Sharon, in any case. She was walking over to find out what in Sam Hill was going on at that very moment.

"Uh, Sharon," Virgil took a deep breath and interrupted her before she could speak. "Um, these nice girls here are gonna play one last song. For us."

Sharon closed her eyes and chuckled as Virgil looked at her with confusion.

"Well." She patted Richie on the shoulder. "I told you."

Virgil gave Richie a demanding look, wanting an explanation, but the band was ready too soon.

"Because we're taking up your time," the singer announced on the microphone, "we'll help you guys clean when we're done. We gotta do this though."

The other chaperones around cleaning were going to object, but noticed _why _another song was being played, and none of them wanted to get anywhere near that can of beans with a ten foot pole.

The band began to play _Start the Fire _by No Doubt. It wasn't a song particularly easy to slow dance to, but this wouldn't have been easy to any song. Richie stiffly put his arms on Virgil's shoulders, an awkward grin sprawling his face. Virgil put his hands on Richie's waist with great apprehension, glancing at his sister a few times and then looking away quickly. They laughed nervously as they began to dance.

Their laughter led to them pressing their foreheads together as it ebbed away.

"_Go on baby you be the hero,_" the band sang, "_now can we go back to zero_?"

Richie put his head down on Virgil's shoulder ever so carefully, scared of the moment, but still savoring it.

"_Go on and get the lighter, we're gonna need some fire, let's get a little higher,"_ the band sang on, but the words, the music, the only couple dancing nervously close to the stage wasn't really listening anyway. They'd have to later, since it was the first song they'd ever danced to, but all that was audible at that moment was the thoughts running through their own heads.

As the song ended, they pulled away, feeling very exposed to all the people cleaning and watching. The band jumped down from the stage, all the girls patting them on the back as they ran to pick trash off the ground. Virgil and Richie thanked them profusely.

"You know," Sharon shook her head at them. "It's not like this is a surprise or anything, but I'll never have any nieces or nephews!"

Virgil grinned at her wickedly. "Richie is a super genius, he can invent a mechanical uterus or something."

Sharon was apparently not pleased with that mental image, as she shook her head as if to get it out. "SORRY I mentioned it," she shook her head some more. "Oh get out of here, we've got the cleaning covered. I'll meet you outside."

Richie and Virgil were thankful that they'd get some more time alone, and ran outside.

"That was awesome," Richie twirled around as they ran out into the cool air of the Summer night.

He was taken by surprised as Virgil scooped him up, looked around to see if anyone was looking, and flew them to the rooftop. Richie didn't even notice that Virgil had his disc on his person while they were dancing. Well, it wasn't as if he'd had an opportunity to grope him.

Virgil put Richie down gently, and sat next to him. They leaned back against the slope of the roof and snuggled a moment, looking at the stars. Most of the bright lights keeping prom-goers in check had been shut off, and the only sound around was the ringing in their ears.

"This is gonna be an awkward drive home," Virgil laughed, looking at Richie and stroking his hair from his face.

"Yeah," Richie laughed, enjoying Virgil's touch. He leaned into it a little, and felt Virgil's face draw closer as his lips were warmed by his best friend's breath. His lips parted a little as he anticipated their kiss, and he poured his arms around Virgil's neck and pulled him closer. They pulled apart and Richie breathed deeply with satisfaction.

"Vee," he whispered into Virgil's ear.

"Hmmm?"

"I am not inventing a damn mechanical uterus."

**A/N: hahahaha, bad ending. I know. I have kind of an action adventure thing planned, which is way more my forte than romance. I'm just gonna add it to this, because I don't feel like having them get together all over again, and it's gonna be when they're rooming together at college anyway. Will have to change the title though. And that will confuse you. Hope this was at least moderately enjoyable. R/R. **


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